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WITH OUR ARMY
IN PALESTINE
BY
ANTONY BLUETT
LATE OF "A" BATTERY, H.A.C., AND EGYPTIAN
CAMEL TRANSPORT CORPS
LONDON: ANDREW MELROSE LTD.
3 YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN, W.C.
1919
TO
MY WIFE
FOREWORD
Little has been said, and less written, of the campaigns in Egypt and
Palestine. This book is an attempt to give those interested some idea of
the work and play and, occasionally, the sufferings of the Egyptian
Expeditionary Force, from the time of its inception to the Armistice.
Severely technical details have been reduced to a minimum, the story being
rather of men than matters; but such necessary figures and other data of
which I had not personal knowledge, have been taken from the official
dispatches and from the notes of eye-witnesses.
Here I should like most cordially to thank the following old comrades for
their generous help: Capt. B. T. Hinchley, R.A.S.C., late of the Egyptian
Camel Transport Corps, and L. Allard Stonard, Esq., late of "A" Battery,
the Honourable Artillery Company, for permission to print their excellent
photographs, which will, I am sure, add materially to the interest of the
book; and R. Arrowsmith, Esq., late of "A" Battery, the Honourable
Artillery Company, whose admirable notes have been of the greatest
assistance to me in compiling some of the later chapters.
ANTONY BLUETT.
HIGHGATE, _July 1919_.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. MERSA MATRUH AND THE SENUSSI 1
II. "SOMEWHERE EAST OF SUEZ..." 19
III. ON 'UNTIN'--AND SOME OTHER MATTERS 38
IV. KANTARA AND THE RAILWAY 46
V. THE WIRE ROAD 63
VI. "THE LONG, LONG TRAIL" 75
VII. ON THE FRINGE OF THE HOLY LAND 88
VIII. THE FIRST BATTLE OF GAZA 98
IX. THE RETREAT 113
X. THE SECOND ATTEMPT 127
XI. TEL EL JEMMI AND THE CAMELS 144
XII. CAVE DWELLERS AND SCORPIONS 157
XIII. IN THE WADI 170
XIV. THE ATTACK ON BEERSHEBA 184
XV. GAZA AT LAST 196
XVI. THE ROAD TO JERUSALEM 211
XVII. OÙ L'ON S'AMUSE 223
XVIII. IN THE JORDAN VALLEY 235
XIX. THE VALLEY OF CHAOS 247
XX. IN FULL CRY 260
XXI. OVER THE LADDER OF TYRE 270
XXII. DESERTED VILLAGES IN LEBANON 281
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING PAGE
NATIVE MARKET AT MERSA MATRUH 16
SUNDAY MORNING IN THE GULF OF SUEZ 32
FELUCCAS BRINGING SUPPLIES TO KANTARA (see p. 54) 64
"THE LONG, LONG TRAIL" 80
I. CAMOUFLAGING A TENT WITH DESERT SCRUB (see p. 29) 144
II. A CAMEL CONVOY 144
SUMMER IN THE WADI GHUZZEE 176
IN THE JORDAN VALLEY--WADI AUJA 240
I. A WATER CONVOY 256
II. THE VALLEY OF CHAOS--BEFORE THE TURKISH RETREAT 256
THE VALLEY OF CHAOS--AFTER THE BOMBING RAID (see p. 255) 272
WITH OUR ARMY IN PALESTINE
CHAPTER I
MERSA MATRUH AND THE SENUSSI
It is a little difficult to know the precise place at which to begin this
narrative. There are, as it were, several _points d'appui_. One might
describe the outward voyage, in a troopship packed to three or four times
its normal peace-time capacity; where men slept on the floors, on
mess-tables, and in hammocks so closely slung that once you were in it was
literally impossible to get out until the whole row was ready to move; and
where we were given food (!) cooked and served under conditions so
revolting as to turn the stomach at the bare sight of it. And there were
other things....
But I do not think any useful purpose would be served by such a course. It
was an unspeakably horrible voyage, but most of the troops travelling East
experienced the same conditions; moreover, the praise or blame for those
responsible for the early chaos will doubtless be meted out at the proper
time and in the proper place.
Again, as far as most people at home are concerned, the Great Crusade began
with the taking of Jerusalem and ended when the Turks finally surrendered
in the autumn of 1918. This view, entirely erroneous though it be, is not
unreasonable, for a thick veil shrouded the doings of the army in Egypt in
the early days, and the people at home saw only the splendid results of two
years' arduous preparation and self-sacrifice.
Now the tale of these weary months ought to be told that justice be done to
some of the biggest-hearted men who ever left the shores of Great Britain
and Australasia, and that the stupendous difficulties confronting them may
be properly appreciated. It is no tale of glamour and romance; it is a tale
of sheer, hard graft, generally under terrible conditions--for a white man.
Before we could even think of moving eastwards towards Palestine we had to
set our own house in order. Egypt was seething with sedition, and the flame
of discontent was sedulously fanned by the young excitables from Al Azhar,
who probably were themselves stimulated by Turko-German propaganda--and
"baksheesh." These had to be suppressed; and the task was not easy.
Further, as far south as Aden there were Turkish garrisons, and troops in
considerable numbers had to be detached to overcome them; this, too, was no
small undertaking. Finally, a flowery gentleman called the High Sheikh or
the Grand Sheikh of the Senussi had ideas above his station--and he had to
be disillusionised.
This was a more serious matter, for the Senussi were the largest native
tribe in Egypt, and Turkish and German officers had been very busy amongst
them. Some account of the operations against them has already been
published, but I believe it concerns mainly the Duke of Westminster's
spirited dash with his armoured cars to rescue the shipwrecked survivors of
the _Tara_, who were grossly ill-treated by the Senussi. Yet right up to
the end of 1917 they were a source of trouble, and in 1915 the situation
became so serious that a strong punitive force had to be sent to Mersa
Matruh, on the Western Frontier of Egypt, to cope with it.
Here, I think, is where we must make our bow, for we had some small place
in these operations; it was, in fact, our introduction to actual fighting,
though we had already spent many torrid weeks on the Suez Canal. And no
better _mise en scène_ could we have than the old _Missa_, for the story of
the campaign would be incomplete without mention of her; she was unique.
Besides, everybody in Egypt knows the _Missa_. Those who had the misfortune
to know her intimately speak of her with revilings and cast slurs upon her
parentage.
Far back down the ages, possibly about the time when the admirable Mr.
Stephenson was busy practising with his locomotive, the _Missa_ might have
been a respectable ship, but her engines had been replaced so many times
by others more pernicious and evil-smelling, and new boards had been nailed
so frequently and promiscuously about the hull, that she resembled nothing
so much as an aged female of indifferent repute decked in juvenile and
unseemly clothes; and her conduct matched her looks.
Most men in the army will have noticed that the authorities nearly always
order a move or begin a "show" on the day of rest. I am no statistician,
but if the tally of these lost hours in bed of a Sunday morning were kept,
the army would have a few weeks' arrears of sleep to make up. On this
particular occasion we went one better than Sunday; we began on a day when
normally peace and goodwill go ringing round the world: Christmas Day,
1915. If there was any peace and goodwill about we failed to notice it, for
it was blowing and raining hard, and we had to get half a battery of
horse-artillery on board that deplorable ship.
It is no joke at the best of times embarking horses and mules; and as, in
addition to the weather, we had the _Missa_ to deal with, the humour of the
proceedings did not strike any one--except the onlookers. For she rolled
and pitched and plunged and dived as she lay there at her moorings. She was
never still a moment, and, in a word, behaved like the graceless, mercurial
baggage she was. But she was beaten in the end.
By dint of that curious mixture of patience and profanity characteristic
of the British soldier when doing a difficult job, horses and guns were at
length safely stowed away. Just before we sailed an old salt on the quay
kindly proffered the opinion that it would be dirty weather outside. He was
right. If the old _Missa_ had behaved badly in Gabbari docks, she was
odious once we got out to sea. She did everything but stand on her head or
capsize--and did indeed nearly accomplish both these feats.
Normally the journey from Alexandria to Mersa Matruh, whither we were
bound, occupies about sixteen hours. On this occasion the _Missa_ took five
days! A few hours after we left harbour the pleasing discovery was made
that some one had mislaid a large portion of the rations for the voyage,
though by a fluke several crates of oranges had been put on board--"in
lieu," perhaps.
Not that the question of food interested any one very much just then, for
by this time sea-sickness was taking its dreadful toll. Men were lying
about the wave-washed decks too ill even to help themselves; indeed, the
only thing possible was to seize the nearest firm object and hang on.
Watering and feeding the horses was a horrible nightmare, but somehow it
was done. The former was carried out by means of horse-buckets--an
interminable business, interrupted at frequent intervals when the men were
shaken and torn by awful bouts of sickness as they staggered or crawled
along the foul, evil-smelling hold. Feeding was rather easier and quicker,
for there was little to give the poor brutes, even had they wanted it. So
it went on for four ghastly days.
On the fifth day, rations, water, and even those blessed oranges had almost
given out, and to add to our joy the skipper, who was afterwards discovered
to be a Bulgarian, had not the remotest notion of our whereabouts and lost
his nerve completely. A big Australian actually did take the helm for a
time and made a shot for the right direction. We had almost given up hope
of reaching the land when, in a smother of foam and spray, there appeared a
patrol-boat, the commander of which asked in his breezy naval way who we
were and what the blazes we thought we were doing. On being informed he
told us we were steering head-on for a minefield, and that if we wanted
Mersa Matruh we must alter course a few points and we should be in before
nightfall. Also, he added a few comments about our seamanship, but we were
much too grateful to mind--besides, they really applied to the Bulgarian
skipper.
It sounds rather like an anti-climax to say that we landed safely. True,
men and horses were too apathetic and ill to care a great deal whether they
were landed or no. Many felt the effects of that turbulent trip for weeks
after, and certainly no one wished to renew acquaintance with the _Missa_!
The only pleasing feature about the business was, if report be true, that
the Bulgarian skipper died suddenly from a violent stoppage of the heart.
Those of us who expected to find a great camp seething with activity and
alive with all the pomp and circumstance of war were disappointed to see a
mere collection of tents scattered about promiscuously, as it were, within
handy reach of the shore. Here and there were piles of timber, R.E. stores,
and the beginning of the inevitable ration dump; it was, in fact, a typical
advanced base in embryo. Nobody seemed more than mildly interested in our
arrival, with the exception of a supply officer who was making agitated
inquiries about a consignment of forty crates of oranges which he said
should have been on board.
When we were sufficiently recovered to sit up and take notice of every-day
matters again, we learnt that there had been some very heavy fighting
during December, culminating in a fine show on Christmas Day and Boxing
Day, when the Senussi, although they took full advantage of the
extraordinarily difficult country, were trounced so severely that more
fighting was unlikely for some weeks. Curiously enough, this cheerful news
rather damped our enthusiasm. We had come expecting to find a large and
exciting war on the beach waiting for us. Instead, we found battery-drills
innumerable for the better training of our bodies and the edification of
our minds. Also, there were fatigues, long and strenuous, which our souls
abhorred. It is curious how the British soldier loathes the very word
"fatigue." He will make the most ingenious excuses and discover that he has
extraordinary and incurable diseases in order to dodge even the lightest.
Possibly the authorities, who sometimes see more than they appear to, had
this in mind when later they changed the word to "working-party." There is
a more dignified sound about it, though I don't know that it made the work
any more acceptable.
In the evening we forgathered in an aged marquee used as a canteen, and
cultivated the acquaintance of our new comrades, the Australian Light
Horse, of which splendid corps more in the proper place. They were an
independent but friendly crowd. Indeed, the word "friendly" is not quite
enough; the Army one "matey" expresses so much better our attitude towards
each other, after the first tentative overtures had been made. And this
"matey" feeling animated the whole campaign against the Senussi, to a
greater degree, I think, than any other. Perhaps the conditions drew us
closer together, for they were deplorable.
It rained all day and almost every day; tents were water-logged and one
moved about in a slough of sticky mud. We ate mud, we drank it in our tea,
we slept in it, for our wardrobes had been left behind in Cairo.
Harness-cleaning was another bugbear, but even that succumbed to the mud
after a time; and as the weeks flew by and inspections, infallible
finger-posts to a "scrap," became more frequent we knew that all was not
in vain and that very soon we should have the chance of justifying the
long, arduous days of preparation. And quite suddenly it came.
One evening in the canteen the whispered news--"straight from the horse's
mouth"--was passed round that we should be in action in two days! It was
laughed to scorn. How often had we heard that tale before! There had
certainly been an inspection of field-dressings in the morning, which
usually meant something, yet even that had been done before and nothing had
come of it. We were frankly sceptical. However, this time the doubting
Thomases were wrong, for the very next day we were roused at a depressingly
early hour by the guard, who told us in a hoarse whisper that we were "for
it."
We were sufficiently experienced in turning out to get the preliminaries
over quickly and without the amazing chaos that usually attends the efforts
of the beginner. It is indeed remarkable how soon one becomes accustomed to
working in the dark. Breast collars seem to slide into their places and
buckles and trace-hooks find their way into one's hands of their own
volition. By sun-up we were well on our way across the desolate, dreary
waste.
It was terribly heavy going, over fetlock-deep in mud, as hour after hour
we toiled along. Beyond small bodies of cavalry dotted here and there on
the desert, there did not appear to be any signs of a battle. Men were
riding at ease, smoking and talking, when, almost unnoticeably, the plain
became alive with soldiers. Infantry appeared from nowhere in particular,
the cavalry seemed suddenly to have increased considerably in numbers and
to be massing as if for a charge, and before we realised it, we were
unlimbering the guns and the horses were struggling through the mud back to
the waggon-lines. In a few seconds the roar of an explosion proclaimed that
the guns were firing their first shots against an enemy, and presently over
the waggon-lines came a persistent whining sound indicating that the enemy
had a few remarks to make on his own account.
The Senussi of course had the advantage of ground, but fortunately for us
they had only light field-pieces which did little damage. They made
astonishingly good use of their machine-guns, however, and soon had the
cavalry, who had made an impetuous charge, in difficulties. So serious did
the situation become that a gun had to be swung round--and extremely
difficult it was to move in the mud--until it was almost at right angles
with its fellow, in order to prevent our being surrounded. For some hours
the Senussi made desperate attempts to outflank us, and both cavalry and
infantry suffered considerably, nor did the artillery have much time for
rest and reflection, for at one stage in the proceedings they were firing
over open sights--and as any artilleryman knows, when that happens the
enemy is quite near enough.
It is of course impossible for one to describe an action like this in
detail or say exactly when the turning-point came. There was the general
impression of the infantry at long last heaving themselves out of the mud
and going forward in real earnest, of the cavalry on the flanks speeding
the heels of the retreating Senussi horsemen, and of the artillery firing
as fast as they could load at any target they could pick up.
The whole engagement seemed to last only a few minutes, yet the artillery
alone had been firing steadily for some five hours. When it was all over we
were rather astonished to find ourselves still alive, somewhat dazed with
the excitement and noise and with the cantankerous whine of machine-gun
bullets still in our ears. A violent desire for a smoke was the first real
sensation, but that desire was not destined to be gratified for some time,
for our troubles were only just beginning.
The sticky mud had completely beaten the horses and mules, which latter had
made a very praiseworthy attempt to stampede earlier in the day, and almost
all the vehicles had to be man-handled along. Rain was coming down in a
pitiless downpour and we had to face the prospect of a bitterly cold night
with neither blankets nor greatcoats, for everything had been left behind
to enable us to travel as light as possible. The plight of the wounded was
pitiable. There were practically no medical comforts for them, most of the
transport being stuck in the mud a considerable distance away.
Some of the slightly wounded men rode on the gun-limbers, others with more
serious hurts in such ambulances as had managed to get up, a few on
camel-back, while the remainder were actually carried in stretchers by
their unwounded comrades. That these men with their heavy loads ever
managed to lift their feet out of the mud was a miracle. I do not know what
system of reliefs was adopted, but by the time the wounded were safely
brought in, a whole battalion must have taken its turn merely to carry its
own few casualties.
It was a magnificent example of devotion and dogged fortitude; and withal,
the outstanding feature of the whole affair was the incorrigible
cheerfulness of everybody, rising superior to all discomforts.
It may be thought that undue prominence has been given to an affair which
after all was one in which a few thousands only took part--little more than
a skirmish, perhaps, judged by European standards. It has been done partly
because this was the first time most of us had been under fire, but chiefly
because the battle was so typical of many in the subsequent desert
fighting.
As will be seen later, the cumulative effect of these minor victories was
out of all proportion to the numbers engaged. Moreover, this particular
action again rammed home the lesson that native guerilla troops cannot
hope to tackle with success, well-armed, well-disciplined white troops
supported by artillery.
Well, we had been blooded--lightly, it is true--and we were ready for the
next job. We had learnt one or two lessons, for no one goes into his first
action and comes out exactly the same man. He is rather like the good, but
young and untried cricketer nervously going in to bat. The bowler looks
about seven feet high and the stumps seem absurdly large; but the moment he
is in the crease the mist clears away from his eyes and he is ready to set
about his business. So it is with war: it is the fear of showing fear that
makes many a good man unhappy in his first action; until he finds that he
is not there merely to be shot at but to do a little shooting on his own
account. After that he has little time to think about himself; he is too
busy.
A plethora of fatigues occupied the next few weeks. A column started on a
sweeping drive towards Sollum, but for us, beyond dropping a few shells
into a native village, there was no further artillery action. Life resolved
itself into an affair of G.S. waggons and patrol-duty, which latter chiefly
concerned the cavalry.
There were lines of communication to be formed, contact with the railhead
at Dabaa to be established and maintained, which meant, amongst other
things, a constant carting of telegraph-poles out to unlikely spots in the
desert, and dumping them there for "Signals," who immediately decided they
would like them taken somewhere else even more remote and inaccessible.
Then, too, we were almost our own A.S.C. In the first place stores had to
be brought by boat from Alexandria to Mersa Matruh, and the harassed and
long-suffering troops were told off as unloading parties. At rare intervals
a consignment of canteen stores would arrive, on which occasions the
unloading party would be at the beach bright and early; things get lost so
easily.
There were some crates of oranges once....
Two things the authorities at the base never troubled to send: clothes and
boots. Apparently they were under the impression that we had taken to
troglodytic habits and required none. Almost every man wore a patch; not
like the tiny, black ornament worn on the face by ladies in the old
Corinthian days, but a large, comprehensive affair more or less securely
sewn on the shirt or the seat of one's riding-breeches. The
quartermaster-sergeant complained bitterly over a shortage of grain-sacks:
the reason for it was walking about before his eyes all day long.
It was dreary work at best, however, with only these uninspiring and
never-ending fatigues to occupy our time. Even our little social haven, the
canteen, did not stay the urgent need for something more active. The
appalling thought came that we had been dumped down in this lonely desolate
spot and left there, utterly forgotten, like Kipling's "Lost Legion."
There came a day, however, when our fears were dispelled by an urgent order
to trek back to Alexandria. Apparently the war had broken out in a fresh
place, and there was work to be done after all. Whatever the reason, there
was joy in the camp. Tents were quickly struck and incinerators soon were
working double shifts, for it is astonishing how things accumulate, even in
the desert. Moreover, the army insists--and rightly--that camps be left
clean and free from rubbish.
Rations, forage and water were the chief things to be considered--or
rather, the problem of packing them on to limbers and in waggons--for they
had to last us to railhead, some days' march away. Officially, once a unit
is on the move, it ceases to exist till it reaches the next place on the
time-table; and if rations or water are lost in the desert you go hungry,
and, worse still, thirsty, for there are no more to be had.
Most of those who took part in it will remember that trek when others are
forgotten. Rations were short, forage was short, everything was short,
especially the ropes by which the horse-buckets were lowered into the
wells; which last remark perhaps needs explanation.
All journeys in the desert are regulated by the distances between wells,
which may be twenty, thirty, and sometimes more miles apart. At some of
them we found the old-fashioned "shadouf," or native pump, which, clumsy
though it was, helped matters considerably.
Usually, however, we had to rely on horse-buckets, and it was any odds that
our ropes were too short to reach the surface of the water. The experienced
driver would take a rein to the well with him, for lengthening purposes if
necessary, but often some unfortunate wight, having found his rope two or
three inches too short, would be seen struggling to hold his thirsty horses
with one hand while with the other he endeavoured to unfasten his belt to
make up the extra inches.
It was a maddening business, this watering the horses. Poor brutes! They
would come in after a long day's trek, on short rations, with often a
twenty-four hours' thirst to quench, and then have to stand round a well
and wait perhaps for hours!
Even the quietest of them began to fidget and strain at their head-ropes
the moment they scented the water.
As for the mules, there was simply no holding them. On one occasion--it was
after a forty-mile march--a mule, frantic with thirst, broke away from his
owner, and in a desperate attempt to get to the water, fell headlong down
the well! A crowd of infuriated soldiers, with drag-ropes and everything
that wit of man could devise, laboured for hours to get him out, while
their comrades, equally infuriated, held anything up to a dozen animals
apiece and made strenuous efforts to prevent them from following his
deplorable example.
[Illustration: NATIVE MARKET AT MERSA MATRUH. [_To face p. 16_.]
But, if the watering difficulty was the worst of our troubles, the shortage
of forage was almost as bad, for the meagre ration of grain was about as
satisfying to the horses and mules as Alfred Lester's famous caraway seed
was to him.
The mules were the worst; they were insatiable. They ate the head-ropes
that fastened them to the horse-lines, and the incensed picket spent half
the night chasing them and tying them up again with what was left of the
rope. Fortunately we obtained chains at railhead, and as these were
uneatable they turned their attention to the horse-blankets and ate them!
Soon it was impossible to "rug-up" at night, for there was not enough rug
left. We used as pillows the nose-bags containing the following day's
grain, and many a time were awakened by a half-famished mule poking an
inquisitive muzzle under our heads.
Our own personal worries mainly concerned washing and shaving. Water was
much too precious to be used for such purposes, so the problem was easily
solved; we did neither. And in any case we had little time. We were up and
away before dawn, we trekked anything from twenty-five to thirty-five miles
a day, and when we had attended to the needs of the animals and had
something to eat and drink ourselves, we were too tired to do anything but
roll into the blankets and sleep until a disgruntled picket roused us for
another day. Occasionally some sybarite would be seen using the remains of
his evening tea as shaving-water and laboriously scraping a three days'
growth of hair from his face; but he was the exception. We were a ragged,
unwashed, unshaven crew--yet mighty cheery withal.
And so we came to Alexandria, where baths, new clothes and boots, and, best
of all, a mail awaited us.